Same Old Cup Of Tea
by jesuisamber
Summary: Hatter glared angrily down at the paper, for how the hell was he supposed to choose his career? He'd rather just sit in the tea shop all day. Oneshot. Pre-series.


**Title: Same Old Cup Of Tea.  
Author: luunasonshine.  
Word Count: 2,073  
Summary: Hatter glared angrily down at the paper, for how the hell was he supposed to choose his career? He'd rather just sit in the tea shop all day. [Post-series.]  
Disclaimer: I don't own Alice (SyFy does.) But I own Hatter (in my dreams.)  
Young!Hatter, Young!March.

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It was always the same; _always the same _hullabaloos that frustrated Hatter to no end. _Always the same _old cup of tea, no new spice, no new zest. Day in and day out, eight hours of school, _same old cup of tea. _After school visits to the tea shop and a nice chat with Mr. Madigan, the owner, _no new spice _- then cause a ruckus with his less than mischievous pal, March, _no new zest. _These were the golden years of his bromidic life, and they were wasting away like marble turning to sand.

School, Hatter knew, was the Queen's way of ensuring that all those who were forced to attend were not there to learn, but to atone for their past, present, and future sins. This was the time of day he wished he was able to block out the rest of the world, watch them dissipate as he diverged himself in his thoughts and let them take him off to Never Never Land.

This, of course, was nothing but wishful thinking. Always on alert, knowing everything that went on around him without having to lift the brim of his hat, he wished he could just sleep and drown out the world. At this very moment, March was taking sloppy rushed notes, copying down everything Mrs. Merryweather was saying; Bill was counting his scales in order to pass the time; and the boy called Jack in the corner was mapping out is future as king. He knew all this without having to raise his eyes. Sleep was nothing but a distant hope, for now.

" - Most of you are going to be eighteen within a few months time," Mrs. Merryweather was saying (March was contemplating whether or not to write this, then decided it to be important, and scrawled it down.) "And to be tried as an adult in Wonderland requires a great deal of maturity," Hatter knew she was glaring right at him; he could feel her white-hot gaze scorching his skin.

Mrs. Merryweather had hated him for nearly the past ten years, ever since his first day of grade school. The newt really wasn't supposed to get loose (don't bother asking why he had a newt in the first place, he won't answer), but March accidentally tripped into him, knocked his hat off, and the newt scampered away, only to be found later in Mrs. Merryweather's lunch. She wasn't quite fond of him ever since then (she demanded it be off with his head, but the Headmaster thought otherwise.)

"As soon as you reach adulthood, all your childish antics must fade into nothing but a mere memory," Another disdainful glance in Hatter's general direction, "and you must face the rest of your life in Wonderland. Whether you wish to be a scientist, or maybe work in the casino, your career determines how you're future will play out. Which is why, today, we will be choosing careers. I will give you a piece of paper with nothing but, 'My career of choice is…' written on it. You must fill in the blank before the end of class. You may write several things you wish to do, but try to make one final decision before you leave here today. This assignment can and will affect your future and how your life plays out. Choose wisely," she finished with a great distinction in her leathery voice.

"But no pressure," Hatter mumbled under his breath, his eyes rolling on their own accord. March's pencil poked him in the square of his back as Mrs. Merryweather's long-fingered hand came down on Hatter's desk with a resounding slap that stirred the class. Hatter remained tightlipped as everyone in the class glanced precariously in his direction. They knew, too, of Mrs. Merryweather's hatred - if hatred was even the right word to describe how she felt about him - towards Hatter.

"What do _you _wish to be, Hatter?" she sneered at him, as he slowly raised his head to look her in the eye. Tipping his hat back, he shrugged.

"I'll decide once I'm out in the world and get a chance to live. I'm too young to know what I want to do for the rest of my life."

"Are you?" she asked sarcastically, and began to give everyone else a paper. "Hatter, you really ought to get your head on straight."

"Does it look crooked to you?" When she shot him a look that sliced though him like a knife, he continued with, "I'm just saying that making us choose our careers like this isn't fair. Shouldn't we get to live life before we settle down with a career?"

Mrs. Merryweather smirked. "Imbeciles like you would think so, Hatter. But you've lived your whole life as a child, so why waste it as an adult?"

"Why pressure us into mapping out the rest of our lives?" He shot back. As Mrs. Merryweather returned to the front of the room, he picked up the paper and waved it around. "For the sake of saving my skin, I'll do your silly assignment. But don't think what I write is what I want."

"You, Hatter, are going to go nowhere. You live your life sitting on the sidelines. It's time to get in the game." And with a look of finality, she plopped down into her chair, and surveyed the room over the rim of her glasses. Sensing the conversation over, he stared down at the paper, ignoring everyone's eyes on him. One by one, they looked away, until he was left to his thoughts.

_My career of choice is…_

There were so many things he could put. For kicks, he could put _'Knight'_. To agitate Mrs. Merryweather, he could jot down, _'Hatter'_. But if he was pushed into a career as a hatter, he'd fear he'd be as mad as March. And the knights were wiped out ages ago, so that was out of the question.

So what did he want his career to be?

Maybe he could put _'King'_, like Jack did. Of course, he was Jack Heart, prince in training. Jack was next in line for the crown, and Mrs. Merryweather would ridicule him for the rest of his life (a boy like Hatter _king?!_) if he actually did write that. So, no kings, no hatters, and no knights.

Hatter would never admit it, but he as just a little nervous about what he would put. He didn't just want to be thrust into a career; he wanted to take it slow, experience things, and maybe go to the other side of the Looking Glass for a little adventure before he chose what to do for the rest of his life.

Maybe he could put, _'Shop Owner'_. That seemed like a reasonable enough career. Then he'd have to decide what kind of shop, and who knew how long that would take. Maybe he could squeeze in some living between choosing what kind of shop and putting it into production.

Of course, he really didn't know what kind of shop he'd want to own. There was already a shop for everything in Wonderland. What did he have that there wasn't already a shop for?

Stress weighed down on him, making his blood boil. He tried to fend off the oncoming headache by pushing the heels of his hands into his temples; headaches were Hatter's ultimate hate, other than Mrs. Merryweather and her foolish career-picking nonsense.

If he put that he wanted to be apart of the Resistance, well that could get him arrested. If he put that he wanted to work in the Great Library, then he'd be in a whole load of trouble, and they'd probably badger him into where it's hiding place was. Hatter already had a run in with Dr. Dee and Dr. Dum, and _that_ didn't end well. They were not his favorite people, admittedly.

With a weary sigh fading on his lips, he whirled around in his chair to face March. His nervous, buck-toothed friend already had his answer down, his paper turned over, and was now gnawing on the eraser of his pencil. He glanced up at Hatter. "What did you write?"

Hatter shrugged. "Still contemplating," he said coolly. "What do you wanna be for the rest of your life?"

"I want to work for the Queen. I want to be a Suit," he said defiantly, turning his pointed nose up regally. "Maybe you could put that."

Hatter's chocolate brown eyes narrowed. "Thanks, but I'm not the Queen's biggest fan."

March opened his mouth, showing his protruding front teeth, and began to speak, "But the-"

"I said I want to auction tea," Dormy perked in, falling fast asleep seconds after the words escaped his mouth.

"Maybe you could work in the casino," March offered. Running his fingers through his white-blonde hair, he said, "I'm only trying to help," to Hatter's skeptical look.

Hatter nodded. He knew his dear friend was trying to offer something to the table, but helping, he was not. He wished those choices were a lot better than they sounded, though he knew them not to be.

He tried to think of what Mr. Madigan would say. He was old, wise, with skin like a peach, and small tufts of gray hair on his balding head. His eyes had sunken into his face, but were still a bright blue that held the truth. Mr. Madigan didn't believe in lying, therefore, he was Hatter's only known symbol of truth. And when he needed advice, he was the first person Hatter turned to.

Mr. Madigan also owned the tea shop. Hatter first went there when he was three; his dad went to get some Passion, and Hatter had wandered off into the back rooms, and Mr. Madigan's office. With a grass carpet, and an all too friendly man beaming down at him whilst clutching a tea saucer, Hatter knew he wanted to return there very soon as his dad clasped his hand and ushered them out of the shop, through the crowds of people angrily yelling at the auctioneer.

And return, he did. A few years later, once old enough to wander the streets on his own. Mr. Madigan was still there, and had plenty of wisdom to share with Hatter. About running a tea shop, about the Resistance, about the old Wonderland and the Knights.

Under the current circumstances, he could only picture Mr. Madigan saying something like, "Do what your heart tells you. After all, it does know best."

So what did his heart tell him?

March was staring intently into Hatter's face. "Hatter, turn around. Mrs. Merryweather's looking."

Hatter growled angrily, and turned around to look down at the taunting paper with those agitating, stress-creating words. He just wished to be at the tea shop, the one he went to everyday, the one he basically grew up in. He knew everything about it; he could practically run it, now that Mr. Madigan was getting quite old.

Do you know the expression, _"and then it hit me"_? Well, it did hit him. Like a pile of bricks being dumped onto is head. The light bulb covered in cobwebs above his head flickered on, metaphorically speaking. He smiled ecstatically, for it wasn't just randomly picking his career out of a hat. He knew _exactly _what he wanted to do.

"By your goofy grin, Hatter," Mrs. Merryweather said, peering at him. "I'm assuming you've chosen a career."

He smiled happily and smoothed out his waistcoat. "Actually, I have."

"Have you chosen wisely?" She demanded of him.

"No, but I think over thinking it will create stress. I'm going with my gut on this one." And with a nod, he peered down into the paper, picking up his forlorn pencil and scrawling down his answer.

_My career of choice is…_

_Running the tea shop._

_----_

Hatter looked at his tea shop now, ignoring Alice's presence beside him, ignoring the stapling cold in the air, and watching as his shop was ransacked by the Suits, and his old buddy March interrogated a customer. March's career was is life, but Hatter's career wasn't _his._

Now, he knew, was his time to start living.


End file.
